Dr. Benjamin Mandeville sat with his bare feet on the coverlet, staring blankly at the television screen. His hands were shaking slightly, and his dark blue eyes were glittering. He tried to take a drink of the water in the glass at his elbow, but his hand trembled too much for him to do so without spilling it. He inhaled deeply through his nose, letting the air out through his mouth, and finally he was calm enough to drink the whole glass of water and pour himself another. It had been three years since he had felt this way about a woman. Jackie had been his whole life, and he had lost himself in her. When she died he thought his world would implode. If it hadn't been for their children, he would have lost his mind, he was sure of it.
Now, here he was, forty-eight years old, feeling like a callow schoolboy again. He couldn't keep his mind off Bronwyn Kerr, and at lunch today, he couldn't keep his hands off her, either. She was beautiful, and she didn't even know it. And although she was married, God help him, he didn't care. He wanted her so badly, he thought he'd go crazy. She hadn't noticed him when she'd checked in yesterday after lunch. He'd been coming in from a game of tennis, and she was reaching for her suitcase, after thanking the receptionist in a lilting voice with the trace of a foreign accent. She bent over to retrieve the handle so she could pull the suitcase along, and the jeans she wore pulled taut over her rounded rear end. Ben felt desire shoot through him like a bolt of lightning, and he knew he would have to get to know her better. He followed her into the elevator, but she remained oblivious to him.
Her hair was long, thick, and streaked with gray, but her youthful face made it hard to tell her age. She was a big woman, voluptuous, with long legs and round arms. He had read her name on her suitcase, and was delighted to find that she was on the same floor as he was. Now all he had to do was find a natural way to meet her, so he could ask her out. When he had seen her in the gym earlier today, it was the answer to his prayer. He knew she had run away from him in the gym, that she didn't have an appointment, but he also knew where she was staying.
Ben had never been shy, and it was not a problem for him to go to her room and invite her out. And all through their time in the bar, and again at lunch, he had had to restrain himself from doing more than touch her hands, when she let him, and her face. Kissing her was out of the question, but that was all he had wanted to do. When she had all but admitted that the attraction was mutual, with that business about him being competition for her husband, he'd been hard pressed not to let out a war whoop, grab her arm, and claim his prize.
Now he had a date with her later, his first date in five years, and he couldn't stop the tremors of anticipation that shook him. Bronwyn was deliciously plump, and she had the most expressive chocolate brown eyes he'd ever wanted to drown himself in, set in an oval face, with groin-hardening lips that seemed always on the verge of a smile, even when she was afraid or angry. Her skin was a rich milk-in-coffee color, warm and smooth. She was also a straight arrow. She cared deeply about her marriage vows, he could tell that, and she was strong enough to keep them, even when she herself also felt the tug of this attraction that he felt between them.
Ben didn't want to sleep with her. Not yet, anyway. He knew she wasn't ready for that, that it wasn't an option open to either of them, and he had meant what he'd said about sex without friendship. But he yearned to have a taste of her full, ripe lips, and to feel her arms around him, holding him, caressing him. He changed the channel on the television when he saw what was on -- a couple in bed together, making love. He heard their impassioned moans and whispers, and his heart slammed up against his chest. I'll probably never know what it is to make love with Bronwyn, he thought.
He picked up the phone and called the front desk.
"Where can I order some flowers?" he asked.
He took down the number and made the call. A dozen yellow roses, for friendship. How he wanted to send her red roses, but he couldn't! He told them where to deliver them and lay back on the bed, thinking about the way she colored up when she let herself feel the tug of their mutual attraction, and how that made his desire for her whip through him like stormy winds. He didn't know when he fell asleep, but it was dark in the room when he woke up. He sat up in a panic and looked at his watch, then breathed a sigh of relief. Seven-thirty. He had time for a quick shower and shave.
At eight o'clock, he was standing outside her door, his chocolate brown slacks hugging his hips and flowing smoothly down his long, muscled legs, the buttery yellow of his shirt gleaming in the light from the hallway. He had the matching jacket slung over his shoulder. When Bronwyn opened the door, his heart lurched violently. She was wearing a simple pale yellow silk dress, form fitting, cowl-necked, three-quarter sleeves, buttons down the back, and she looked stunning. She wore simple gold knobs in her ears, and her rings flashed on her hands. In her black high-heeled slingbacks, she was still three or four inches shorter than he was.
"Hi," he breathed, and put out his arm. "You must be psychic," he continued, indicating their matching colors. "You look wonderful!"
Bronwyn took his arm, smiling, and he closed her door behind them. He could feel her tremble slightly, and he knew she was trying to calm her wildly beating heart as he was doing. He took steadying breaths, and waited until he could speak without huskiness.
"I'm taking you to a little French restaurant I used to take my wife to," he told her, and heard her faint gasp with a small smile. She was so innocent, he knew he would have to protect her, not only from himself, but from herself as well. Although he had his car, he didn't want to drive. He wanted to be with her without having to concentrate on anything else. So once outside, he hired a waiting cab and sat with her in the back. He did not touch her, though he was aching to put his arms around her and kiss those sexy peach-colored lips until she begged for mercy.
The scenes rolled past outside, but he missed them all. He had eyes only for her, and he wanted her to know it. He could smell the scent of her perfume, some heady concoction with jasmine in it. He heard her sigh and looked into her face. She was looking at him with an emotion she was trying to conceal lurking in her eyes, and he felt his groin tighten. This was going to be harder then he had thought, when he had promised not to do anything she didn't want him to do. He smiled, and saw her eyes widen.
The cab stopped, and he got out and helped her out. After paying the driver, he led her down a few steps into a small intimate space. There were a few patrons already there, and Ben led her to the counter where he asked for a table for two. They were led upstairs, and taken out on to the balcony above the street, to a cozy table in one corner. Tall glasses were filled with water and menus were brought.
"What's your pleasure?" Ben asked, then remembered her reaction the last time he had asked it. He looked at her again, and saw that she remembered too.
"I'll have whatever you're having," she said in a low voice, keeping her eyes averted. He heard the faint accent again, and it gave him an odd thrill. He'd follow that particular clue to her life tomorrow.
"Will you follow my lead in everything tonight?" he asked suggestively.
"Everything to do with the meal," she replied quickly, looking him in the eye for the first time. She had pinned her hair up on top of her head, but a few tendrils had come loose and streamed down her neck and the sides of her face, making her look even younger than usual.
Suddenly, he wanted to know everything about her -- how old she was, what she did for a living, where she lived. He knew that she did not have to tell him any of these things, that knowing them would only complicate their relationship. At least he could ask how long she was staying.
"I'm leaving the day after tomorrow," she replied. His heart sank.
"Why so soon?" he asked. He only had one more day with her.
"You forget," she said, "I have a family. Children who will be off to college in a couple of weeks. A husband who expects me to help him with all the last minute preparations. And I do have a job." Her voice held irony.
"What do you do for a living?" he asked.
"I'm a teacher in a high school," she answered, and her whole face changed, became softer. He could tell she loved what she did.
"What subject?" he asked, and was not really surprised when she answered, "English."
"A complicated subject for a complicated woman," he said, smiling appreciatively.
The salad came, and their fingers touched as they were both reaching for the dressing. Ben felt that familiar electric shock bolt through his arm and sizzle in his chest. He looked over at his companion, and she appeared to be calm, but her eyes were lowered, and he knew she was hiding her reaction from him. My God, he thought, who would ever believe that touching fingers could make me so hot?
He watched her as she forked some salad into her mouth. She licked off the drop of dressing that clung to her full lower lip, unaware of his eyes on her, and he felt his whole body harden in response. Eat something, he admonished himself, lowering his gaze, and he ate everything on his plate without really tasting any of it, even forgetting to use the dressing.
